disclaimer: don't own, so don't sue...also, I don't have a title for this yet, so after reading, review with your suggestion for what it should be...all my own ideas have been really really lame.

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It was a warm summer evening. Miley and Oliver sat side by side on the porch swing, Oliver gently rocking them back and forth with his toes. The air was balmy, yet breezy, and the stars seemed to glow twice as brightly as usual in the deep navy sky.

"I can't believe we're going to be seniors," Miley said.

"That's a lot of years of school," Oliver replied.

"That's a lot of years of friendship," Miley added, smiling at him.

"Ah yes, good years," he said, staring off nostalgically.

"Do you think everything'll change?" she asked, scooting closer and looking up at him.

"What do you mean?" He looked back at her.

"This is our last year together. After this it's college, careers, life!"

"I like to think you two'll always follow me around, members of my own fan club." He grinned and put an arm around her.

"A two person fan club?" He affected a wounded look. "Besides, I'm the one who's a famous popstar with an actual fan club."

"Yeah, but I'm hot." He anticipated her hitting him playfully and they both laughed. She snuggled her head against his chest, enjoying the comfortable night air and her best friend's arms around her. She didn't know whether is was exhaustion, the warm night, or her extreme comfort and contentment that was having such a soporific effect on her, but whatever it was, she felt lazy and sleepy, and she closed her eyes, resting happily against Oliver. "Did you ever get over that obsession with Hannah Montana?" she asked slowly, stifling a yawn.

"What do you mean? Did I get over her? You?"

"Yeah. I guess I mean did you ever like me--Miley?"

"Of course I did," he said lightly, as if it were the most natural, expected, and obvious thing in the world.

"Mm, that's always nice to hear." She smiled, eyes still shut, and looped an arm around him.

"How about you?"

"Eh?"

"Did you ever fall for old Smokin' Oken?"

She laughed. "You know I did."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you said it yourself, you're a regulation hottie." She was smiling.

"Should this be weird?" he asked suddenly. "Are best friends supposed to feel this way about each other?"

She sat up. "Well, think about it: we're best friends, so we must be able to stand each other on some level. And we're clearly both attractive people." He nodded in agreement. "I don't see anything wrong."

"Yeah," he continued. "I mean, I would think you would take it as a compliment that I'm attracted to you."

She nodded. "And I know you feel the same way."

"Absolutely." He was looking consideringly at her; she was doing the same him.

"And if we—"

"Yeah—" he agreed. They came together in a hasty kiss. She put her arms around his neck. He caught his hands in her hair, holding the back of her head steady.

"Is this weird?" he asked breathlessly, inches from her face.

"Believe me," she answered. "Weirdness is not on my mind right now." He kissed her over and over, teasing her, enticing her.

"Smokin' Oken," she giggled between kisses. She felt him smiling against her mouth.

"Say that again."

"Oliver Smokin' Oken," she whispered, catching his lips and forcing him to kiss her longer and deeper. She felt him melt.

"Are you enjoying this as much as I am?"

"Oliver, you're the boy who's always clamoring for a date, yet who really wants someone who understands him, and I'm the girl with a secret identity who really just wants someone who knows and loves her completely. What do you think?"

"Do you think everything will change now?"

She gazed into his eyes, so large and close to her own. "I'm open to it."

She smiled contentedly against his mouth as he kissed her again, knowing how wonderful it was to be in love with her best friend—the boy who knew everything about her, loved her unconditionally, and didn't feel remotely weird proving it to her.

She sighed happily, and he smiled.